


inches on me

by inkk



Category: Metallica
Genre: (fuck yeah baby), (kinda), Banter, Communication, Height Differences, Height Kink, Humor, Insecurity, M/M, Sexual Content, Size Difference, Size Kink, Touring, james struggles with strange height-related guilt demons, kirk is a shithead, lars is a power bottom and i stand by it, Перевод на русский | Translation in Russian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-07
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2020-01-06 02:41:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18379277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkk/pseuds/inkk
Summary: It’s just that Lars is kind of—Small.





	inches on me

**Author's Note:**

> things that i think about way too much:  
> -metallica  
> -height differences ([kill](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/43/e2/2d/43e22d409f4bd9d5c3f27e548b372123.jpg) [me](http://i.ebayimg.com/images/g/7VMAAOSwmgJY5AwK/s-l600.jpg) [softly](https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/0/07/Metallica_at_The_O2_Arena_London_2008.jpg/1200px-Metallica_at_The_O2_Arena_London_2008.jpg))  
> logical conclusion:  
> -???  
> -this???  
> title comes from 'love level' by blondie... enough said there. originally written with the mid-eighties in mind, but overall it's up to your imagination. either way, cliff is alive and well 'cause i love him :-)  
> enjoy!
> 
>  
> 
> [перевод на русский](https://ficbook.net/readfic/8143469) (translation by [saderaladon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/saderaladon/pseuds/saderaladon))

-

 

It’s not that James is a crazy psycho sadist who wants to use his stature to overpower Lars, or somehow hold it against him or something. Just because he’s in the taller half of the band and screams a lot and has a reputation for being a bit of a wild child when he’s drunk doesn’t mean he’s a dick about it. It’s not like that and never has been.

It’s just that Lars is kind of—

Small.

Like, really small.

James knows Lars can be a bit touchy about his height, and he doesn’t blame the guy. It’s not that he means to fixate on it or anything. He generally doesn’t even bring it up - partly because he’s not a complete dick, partly because he’s already exhausted most of his possible “short jokes” on Kirk, and partly because he knows it just doesn’t matter.

James doesn’t give a shit about whatever “fans” or other assholes have to say about the height discrepancies within the band - he and Lars have been buddies since they were eighteen, and James knows full well that Lars can wail on a drum kit just as hard any other motherfucker he knows. That’s the only part that really matters. The feet and inches are entirely irrelevant to anything they’ve ever done, and any stupid poser who’s aggravated by it should probably be socked firmly in the stomach.

Hence why James doesn’t think about it.

 

\- - -

 

Except for the part when he sort of maybe does.

It’s not on purpose, really. There’s nothing weird about it. It’s just that sometimes when they get excited and go in for a bear hug, James can’t help but notice the way that Lars rocks up a bit onto his toes to meet him halfway. Or maybe they’ll be standing around by the bus and James will casually sling an arm across Lars’ shoulders and realize how perfectly comfortable it is for them to fit together.

But it’s not _weird_. It’s just... Lars. Six or seven inches between them doesn’t change jack shit - so why can’t James stop thinking about it every single fucking time Lars tries to reach for something in a high cabinet and ends up shooting him a pointed look? (A perfect example of Code Glare No.3: ”I refuse to ask aloud, but wow, it’d be mighty convenient if you could hand me that jar of peanut butter as you walk by.”)

So James keeps it to himself and focuses on other, more important things: Lars is capable. Lars is organized. Lars is kind of bossy. Lars does more than his fair share to keep the band together. Lars is a trustworthy guy and James would do anything for him.

 

Lars’ head fits really, _really_ nicely into the crook of his neck when they pass out in the bunks together.

 

\- - -

 

They’ve fooled around together before. Hooked up, if you want to call it that - they’re usually at least halfway-wasted, and although it happens more often than not, James wouldn’t say it’s a guaranteed occurrence. 

Hardly anything he’d classify as a big deal, but hardly something he’d forget, either.

For example, last week: they had all been sitting around at the hotel, drinking and watching some dumb show as usual when Kirk and Cliff had ditched to go smoke up in the other room. As soon as the door was shut, Lars was all over him - James hardly had time to register “warm, Lars, sudden boner” before he was being pressed back into the couch with a hot little body sliding in on top of him, sort of dry-humping him with his legs spread wide across James’ thighs.

James had let it happen, because he always does; Lars’ bossy streak can verge on annoying while discussing band matters, but when he puts it to use in the bedroom, it’s just plain hot.

He’d ended up fucking Lars properly that night, bent over on the bed with his ass in the air and knees spread wide as he bit his lip and groaned right through it. The final thought that pushed James over the edge was how big his hands looked as he gripped Lars’ narrow hips.

 

\- - -

 

“Do you ever think about being small?” James blurts out one day while he and Kirk are standing by the side of the bus at a rest stop, waiting for the others to finish taking a piss.

Kirk looks over and makes a strange face. “What?”

“I just mean, like,” James averts his gaze, lifting one hand to scratch the back of his neck, “You’re kind of small.”

Kirk raises an eyebrow. “Maybe you’re just kind of tall.”

“No, I didn’t mean—...” James cuts himself off with a sigh, trying to find the words. He squints off into the distance.

The eye-roll is practically audible. “Spit it out, Het.”

“Fuck you,” James says without heat. “I just meant it, like. When it comes to, uh… Y’know, chicks and stuff.”

There’s a beat between them before Kirk lets out an amused huff of laughter. “Well, I guess so,” he shrugs. “I don’t really care about it. It’s not like I purposefully go after the short ones or something, but. It’s probably just something that sorta factors in subconsciously, right?”

James nods as if that remotely answers his question at all. A stray breeze pushes his dirty hair into his face, and he takes a second to haphazardly tuck it behind one ear.

“Why d'you ask?” Kirk cocks his head.

It’s James’ turn to shrug. “Dunno. Just wondered.”

The gas station door opens with a raucous bout of laughter, and the two of them turn to watch as Cliff and Lars walk back over to join them, holding a six-pack each.

Kirk looks back at him and smiles wide enough that James can see his fucked-up teeth. “Bet I know someone else you could ask.”

 

\- - -

 

“Fuck,” Lars pants, eyes wide and dazed as they lock onto James, his hands scrabbling for purchase on the counter, “Fuck, James, fuck—“

James manages a vague grunt in response and pushes Lars’ legs up a little further, eliciting a small flurry of bitten-off Danish. “Yeah?”

Lars groans something incomprehensible, followed by “yeah, yeah, right there, _god_ —“

The skin of his neck is slick with sweat, cheeks flushed and hair wild as his breathing echoes off the walls of the small bathroom. He can’t arch his back with his body curled in half like this, instead settling for weakly thumping his head back against the mirror.

“God, you’re fuckin’ big,” Lars gasps out, his voice oddly strangled, and although it feels like it should be nothing more than a cheap line, James is already coming so hard he sees white.

After he pulls out and finishes fingering Lars to completion like a gentleman, they take a moment to catch their breath. The zip of James’ fly feels loud in the quiet. In his periphery, he watches Lars slump sideways on the counter and card a hand through his hair, hears him mutter out a barely-audible _åh min gud_.

James wonders if this is something they should discuss.

 

\- - -

 

Or maybe it’s not.

After all, things are going well between them - exceedingly well, actually. James doesn’t want to bring it up and accidentally make Lars get all snappy and self-conscious about his stature. He doesn’t want to turn it into a Thing.

But at the same time, he feels kind of bad about it. Like as if he’s somehow preying on Lars’ shortness for his own personal gain without the latter even knowing. It’s confusing, and _strange_ , because it’s such a tiny little unimportant detail, but yet James still can’t quite push it out of his fucking mind.

It’s not because he thinks Lars is weak, because he doesn’t - short or not, the guy is not to be fucked with. Although he’s on the skinny side, with thin shoulders and a narrow waist, he’s still not some waifish creature who will shatter in the breeze. James has seen him launch himself at a bully with bloodthirsty rage on more than one occasion (even Dave, and that was saying something towards the end of his tenure with them).

So is it because he wants to… enforce himself upon Lars?

James almost makes a face at the thought. God, no. Not his type of porn. He may be a horny guy, but he’s not a fucking rapist.

Sure, maybe he likes to manhandle Lars. Maybe he likes to manhandle Lars a little bit extra when they’re drunk. But it’s never about… that. It’s just about how much lighter Lars is, and how well they fit together, and those broken, high-pitched little moans he makes when James really gets going. And James really, _really_ likes it when Lars gets on top and lets James grab him by the hips, large palms splayed wide as he urges Lars to go just a little bit faster, a little bit harder.

They haven’t done it against a wall yet, but that’s on James’ mental list, too. One of these days, he’d love nothing more than to hook Lars’ legs around his waist, grab him firmly by the ass and really take him to pound town.

Lars would probably get a kick out of that, too. Maybe not for the exact same reasons, but James knows how his boy likes it: rough, fast and dirty. It’s one of the things they’ve talked about - like the hair-pulling (Lars), and the riding (James), and the dirty talk (Lars), and the occasional bout of face fucking (James and Lars). They’ve kinda got the give-and-take down to a science by now.

James sighs aloud.

_Great. Now he’s horny._

‘Tallica’s playing a club show later on today, but it’s another lucky hotel night - if all goes to plan, hopefully he’ll have a chance to pull Lars aside afterwards. They’ll have to wait until Cliff and Kirk wander off or pass out, but until then James will be counting the seconds before he can get Lars on the bed and press him into the mattress, cover Lars’ body with his own and kiss him hard until he can’t breathe. A more impatient part of him is sorely tempted to just run directly off stage and find the nearest closet, yank Lars in and rip off those sweaty, disgusting pants and—

“—you coming?”

James almost startles, head whipping around to see Cliff looking at him. “Huh?”

“To the bar,” Cliff repeats, sounding vaguely amused. “We’re gonna go kill some time before the show.”

James swallows, nods, and furiously tries to banish the blood from his nether regions. “Oh, yeah,” he manages, “Sure. I’ll, uh. I’ll be there in a sec.”

 

\- - -

 

Lars ends up getting pulled aside immediately after they get off stage that night - something about a drum kit, or a fan or something, James doesn’t really know why. He only gets a glance in passing and tries not to be disappointed when there’s no sign of him before it’s time to leave the venue.

They’ve already talked to the fans our back, and now that the adrenaline has worn off, James just feels tired and sweaty. All he really wants is to do is go back to the hotel and make the most of having an Actual Person Sized Bed, but then Kirk goes and gets all whiny and calls him a lightweight pussy, so a half hour later James finds himself slumped over in the booth of the nearest dive bar anyways.

Not quite on par with having Lars’ dick down his throat, but he sucks it up and orders a drink anyways. 

Make that two right off the bat.

 

\- - -

 

They get a cab back to the hotel and stumble up to the room around two or three in the morning - Kirk calls dibs on the couch, James barely manages to get under the covers before crashing face first on the bed, and who knows where Cliff ends up. Lars is nowhere to be found when James’ eyes slide shut, the room spinning around him.

He stirs later on, when the room is still dark. At first he’s disoriented, blinking dazedly; the pillow feels rough against the right side of his face, drool on the fabric and a godawful taste in his mouth. _What time is it? How long has he been asleep?_

He makes a confused sound and half-attempts to turn over, but the bed dips further and then there’s a warm presence at his back, one thin arm tucking over his ribs. “Go back to sleep,” a voice murmurs close by his ear.

“Lars?” James asks. Or tries to, at least - his throat is so dry it comes out as a disgruntled croak.

A faint chuckle against his neck. “Ja, kære. Just me.”

James nods a little, cheek dragging along the bedding. His head is foggy, but his eyes have adjusted enough that he can make out a few thin slivers of light filtering through the blinds and hitting the far wall. Behind him, Lars moves a little, one foot nudging halfway between James’ calves, but he’s not quite big enough for it to work comfortably.

He shifts around for a few moments, restless, then sighs and whispers, “James. _James_. C’mon, flip over.”

With a bleary grunt of assent, James yawns and stretches out his legs, the bed squeaking horribly as he clumsily shifts his hips until he’s turned to face Lars. James can’t make out much of his face, other than a vague outline of hair and the barest glint of his eyes.

“Too short for that shit,” Lars grumbles, tugging the covers up and lying back down so that this time his back is up against James’ chest.

James winds an arm around Lars’ midsection to sleepily pull him closer. “Not too short,” he mumbles into the back of Lars’ head, eyes already sliding shut again. “‘S perfect. Jus’ the right size. Love holding you.”

Lars’ stomach rises and falls beneath his hand, the steady rhythm lulling James back into sleep. Just as he’s drifting off again, he hears Lars murmur something else. His voice is gentle, soft as breathing, but the words aren’t English.

 

\- - -

 

James pukes in the morning, and then they all get back on the bus. Kirk laughs at him from behind his sunglasses. They drive to the next city and do it all again for the next two weeks.

 

\- - -

 

“Admit it! You have a thing for the tall ones!”

Even from halfway across the bar, James hears Kirk’s triumphant crow ring out over the din. He feels a sigh building as he slaps a couple bills down on the counter and grabs the two beers, nodding to the bartender before making his way back to their table. Kirk’s been in an restless mood all night; James should have known it would be a mistake to leave them alone for ten minutes.

“—just saying, I’ve never—“

“—and what the fuck would you know? You’re—“

“—been stupid not to—”

James exhales heavily as he resumes his seat, Lars and Kirk squabbling heatedly across the table. He slides the second beer across to Cliff, who meets his gaze and quirks an eyebrow.

“Apparently Lars has a height fetish,” he offers in way of explanation.

Lars’ face is flushed when he turns on them. “Which is not true w—“

“It’s a logical conclusion to make!” Kirk interrupts him, only slurring a little bit around the edges as he brandishes a finger at their drummer. “Like, when’s the last time any of us saw you wander off with a chick shorter than you, y'know?”

James blinks. Lars opens his mouth, but no sound comes out. For a second, nobody says anything, and then Cliff giggles.

“I don’t have a— a fucking _height fetish!_ ” Lars insists anew. “It’s just a coincidence. And if we're going by height, I have less options to pick from in the first place, so—“

“Boooooo,” Kirk jeers, loudly cutting him off and rolling his eyes, “Shitty excuse! There are so many short girls to pick from, dude, why won’t you just fucking admit it? You like the tall ones!”

And then, to James’ horror, Kirk locks eyes with him and grins. “C’mon, Mighty One, back me up here.”

James averts his gaze and shakes his head, taking a pull from his bottle. “Fuck no, don’t drag me into this. You’re not the one who has to share a room with him tonight.”

 

\- - -

 

The bar is only a few blocks from the hotel, so they decide to walk it. Lars grumbles halfheartedly the whole way back. The building itself is made from brown brick and looks more like a penitentiary than anything else - complete with bars on the windows - but there’s a sign advertising the lack of bedbugs, and the room seems functional once they get upstairs.

Kirk and Cliff are off somewhere else; probably headed in separate directions for some quality alone-time after spending a couple weeks with the whole fucking band 24/7. James would agree with them, except for the part where he's been dreaming about getting Lars alone for that whole time.

Not that the latter seems terribly in the mood right now.

James sits down on the left side of the bed and kicks off his sneakers, then shucks his jeans and jacket until he’s sitting at the headboard in just his socks and ratty t-shirt. Lars takes a seat on the opposite side of the bed and starts untying his shoelaces. For a while, nobody says anything.

“You good?” James eventually breaks the silence.

“Fine,” Lars replies, “Why wouldn’t I be?”

James shrugs. “Kirk was being kind of a shithead.”

“He was,” Lars agrees, then huffs a sigh. “It’s really none of his fuckin’ business.”

“He just likes to push people’s buttons.”

“Ja, I know. It’s just…” Lars trails off. Even though his back is turned, James sees the way his jaw tightens when he says, “I wouldn’t be so mad if he wasn’t right.”

A beat passes, and he exhales, shoulders tensing up a little.

“Oh,” James says.

“It's stupid, ikke?” Lars gives a curt shrug. He raises a hand to rub over his flushed face, and the words keep coming - “Maybe it's weird, or not manly, or whatever. I’ve been bullied for being small my whole life, but I just… for some reason I don’t mind it when it comes to that stuff.” And then, a little bit quieter, “When it comes to you.”

James watches him for a second, the words turning in his brain. “Well, it's not, uh… stupid,” he finally says, aiming for reassuring and ending up somewhere in the realm of stilted and awkward.

“I mean, like, we both know Kirk only says that type of shit cause he thinks it’s funny to get people pissed off, but... I don’t fuckin’ care. It doesn’t really matter, and, uh. Y’know. It’s not stupid. I mean, I—… I sorta like it, too.”

_Smooth, Hetfield._

Lars snorts, turning his head to look at James in amused disbelief. “Why, cause I’m the same size as your first girlfriend?”

James’ lips twitch against a relieved grin. “Am I the same size as your first tennis coach?”

“Oh, fuck off,” Lars narrows his eyes, but it’s lighthearted.

“I’m serious,” James shrugs easily. He meets Lars’ eyes for a second, then diverts his gaze down to his lap. He can feel Lars watching him.

“The other night you said— You said something about me being the right size, and I didn’t know what you meant.”

James plays with the hem of his underwear. _Caught._ “Uh, I dunno. It’s just… nice,” he says vaguely. “Like, it’s— comfortable, or something, I dunno. I just like it. It’s not a big deal. I didn’t want to bring it up ‘cause I thought you’d hate it.”

Lars exhales an amused laugh. “I don’t hate being short, I just hate when people are massive fucking dicks about it.”

“Well, I didn’t want to accidentally be a massive fucking dick about it either,” James offers in his defense.

A moment passes between them before Lars nods. “Okay,” he says, with an air of finality, “Alright. I think I get it.”

“So… it’s cool?” James follows up after a beat, “Or do we need to talk about it more?”

Lars shakes his head. “Later,” he says, “or maybe never.” At James’ raised eyebrows, he rolls his eyes. “C’mon, man. This is the first night we’ve had alone in a week, and the only talking I want to be doing is the dirty kind.”

James watches as Lars gets up on his knees and shuffles across the mattress to meet him. “Pushy,” he mutters with a grin, and reaches out to pull him in.

 

\- - -

 

So, they figure it out. They don’t have to talk about it, because it’s not a big deal; James still sings, Lars still drums. Lars still bosses James around, James still lets him. James manhandles Lars a bit more, Lars gets into the habit of sitting on James’ dick like a professional. But the main thing that changes is how Lars stops feeling obligated to get all flustered and embarrassed by always being the little spoon.

At the end of the day, Lars can still glare at James, and James will still reach the peanut butter for him. Just like always.

 

-

**Author's Note:**

> come find me on tumblr @[shotgunmessiahs](http://shotgunmessiahs.tumblr.com)!


End file.
